Return To The Apartment
by makingtea
Summary: An old friend returns to the home of Kirika Yuumura and Mireille Bouquet, and sees the life that isn't hers. Post series. Shoujoai. ...SECOND HALF COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**_My first fanfic post! I hope you like it. (This is Part 1 of 2)_**

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The door to their apartment looks just the same as it did the last time I visited. It's still a plain-looking face of white-painted wood that stands guard in front of their dwelling. There is nothing on the surface that would indicate that 2 of the world's top assassins, or more accurately now, ex-assassins, take residence on the other side of this simple white door. 

As I enter the apartment, I look down the short hallway that leads towards their living area. Diffuse daylight from the mid-morning sun fills the room. I am struck by the comforting familiarity of it all. Though I have only been inside once before, many times in the past I was a silent spectator to their daily rituals. I admired the Girl from a distance, behind the rooftop chimney on the building across from theirs. How long has it been since I last laid eyes on this place? Has it been months? Years?

The walls have been refinished, bullet-holes filled in to hide any evidence of the onslaught of firepower from the Knights of Paris. The first item to greet me as I move forward and look over the corner is a new table. I had been expecting to see the pool table that served as a desk for the Daughter of Corsica. However, it appears that the pool table did not survive the battle and has been replaced by a dining table with matching executive-style chairs, and a soft-looking area rug right below. A new computer sits on the table, now a standard store-bought laptop instead of the custom unit she had that was specified to handle the heavily encrypted transactions that were made in the past. With the new computer settled on one side, and what appears to be a large closed book with various art supplies spread across the other, this table looks to be the new working desk. Sensible change, really. I have never observed either of them actually play pool on the old table before.

I take a quick glance around the living area that stretches across the entire width of the apartment. It looks like they have restored the apartment to be fully livable again. No one would be able to tell that a messy gun battle was waged here. However, besides the working table, there are other things different now. There are 3 potted plants thriving under the farthest right window, each with colorful flowers in full bloom, all sitting on top of a new low cabinet. There are fancy new curtains decorating the windows, a new panel television hung onto one of the sloped far side walls between the windows with a swivel arm wall mount, and a new bookshelf has been placed in the corner by the far left window, sparsely filled with what appears to be the beginning of a book collection.

My feet seem to be moving along with my sight. I walk past the half-wall that marks the division between the living area and the bedroom. …Their bedroom. I intentionally hold my sight away from the entrance of their sleeping quarters, only catching a glimpse in the corner of my eyes of the sofa still placed along the far bedroom wall. I refuse to let myself see the specific place where the Girl and her partner might have been sharing the most intimate of moments… perhaps even just the night before. I come to my senses, and shake my mind away from that still somewhat, difficult thought and resume my tour of the re-finished home.

I lay my eyes on the eating table, the centerpiece of the left half of their living area. Fresh-cut flowers are arranged in a crystal vase right in the center of the wooden surface. It must have been one of the few pieces of furniture spared from the rain of bullets, as it is the same one where we sat at that one time. The memory of that evening is still clear in my mind, and it still brings a smile to my face. The lights were turned off, and the room was bathed in the glow of the most beautiful moon I had ever seen my short life. We had tea and biscuits here, all of us. The delicious flavor of the Orange Pekoe, made by the Girl herself, is still fresh in my mind as though I had just sipped the liquid just minutes before. That night, I received a gift... Her gift. I reach into the small pocket under my cloak and take it into my hands. The two-pronged dessert fork that she had in her sleeve shines just as much as it did the night she gave this to me. Despite her original motive of taking this, and what she ultimately did use it for, it is a souvenir from that perfect evening, and is still my most treasured possession.

I return my treasure to the safe confines of my pocket as my steps take me down the center of the room. I circle around the eating table and continue until I face the new bookshelf on the far wall. The shelf appears to be custom made for this corner as the entire right side has been made in a slant, and slots into position in perfect alignment with the original sloped wall. The lower shelves seem to be reserved for the accumulation of all sorts of new and old books. The Girl must be trying to catch herself up in her worldly education. The small collection here is impressive based solely on the sheer variety. There are encyclopedias, fictional novels, magazines, and books covering everything from art to mythology to history to science to children's fairy tales. I catch myself smiling just a bit. I wonder if the Girl finally knows what Alice in Wonderland is about now.

I raise my eyes to the upper shelves. These are obviously being used for more decorative purposes. Numerous framed pictures here are positioned across several levels of shelves. They show photographs of various sizes taken of the two women together. …always together. It looks like they have been traveling frequently, based on the varied backdrops in the pictures.

She looks so happy. So happy with her…

I close my eyes for a short moment to calm my senses. Part of my subconscious is still yearning, still feeling pain for what I wasn't meant to have. But now is not the time for such self-pity. I am here, not to be haunted by the past. …I just want to see what her life is like now.

Immediately to the left of the shelf, I notice the recessed nook that was built right into the middle of the wall. This was there before, but the old decorative pictures that were there have all been replaced. More framed pictures of the pair dominate this area, similar to the ones on the shelf, but larger. However, the largest picture placed right in the middle of the nook is unique. Small roses are finely etched into the gold surface of the frame, which encloses not a photo but a hand-painted portrait, and is also the only picture I have seen here that shows only one by herself. It is a portrait of Mireille Bouquet, and I am astounded as I admire the exquisiteness of the painting. It is not difficult to tell that the painter had a deep admiration for the subject. The fine gentle strokes; the rich, vibrant palette; the depth in the eyes… The blond Corsican's obvious beauty is captured perfectly in a meticulous blend of colors. I glance down to the signed bottom corner of the painting to see the owner of the talent that produced this work, and only half-surprisingly find the fine paint strokes spell out the name, "Kirika Yuumura".

The discovery that the Girl has learned this skill at such a level indeed surprises me. This Girl, the most gifted assassin I have ever had the privilege of witnessing, is now also a remarkable artist. This knowledge brings a wave of warmth to my heart, and I close my eyes as I again realize a smile has already formed on my mouth. Really though, it shouldn't be too surprising to me since I know she is smart enough and strong enough to do whatever she wants in life. It just has never occurred to me that one of those things would be to paint. Also, with the aura of love and admiration conveyed in the portrait, there can be no doubt as to the identity of the artist since there is only one who loves the Daughter of Corsica as much as Kirika Yuumura.

…Kirika …Yuumura. It was a fabricated name, but she seems to have taken the name as her own. In her new life, the name is no longer false, no longer a work of fiction printed on an ID card. It seems it no longer matters whether or not it is her birth-given name. The name is real because she made it real, to herself and to her lover.

I turn away from the wall and gaze towards the span of the apartment from this broad vantage point. I begin to recognize that every decoration, every piece of furniture has been carefully arranged in fluent harmony to reflect the shared tastes of the tenants. Living here must feel like a blessing to them now. I even allow myself to steal a long glance towards the direction of their bedroom. Red roses in another vase adorn the top of their glossy new dresser. White silk sheets are carelessly spread over the bed, with various garments littering the floor beside it. There is only one single large pillow but the creases in the fabric from the previous night are so close together, one might think only one large-headed person slept on it. So my intuition was probably right: There was very likely more than just sleeping on that bed last night. But strange… At this moment, I feel almost at ease with the idea. I know now, that this place is something much more than it was. It had originally been a sparse place that reflected the lonely hearts of the ones who lived inside. Now, it's a place saturated with love. I can feel it as I breathe the air. Every corner, every surface, every arrangement tells a story of the most loving bond between the tenants. It gives me a sense of contentment that the Girl has found such a life, even if it's not with me like I had originally expected, and wanted.

I do not feel any malice or anger towards the Girl for what she has done. Not anymore. She made a decision, one born of complete and total honesty, to me, and to herself. In truth, I asked for that honesty when I attacked her friend. Of course I still feel some sadness and perhaps even some bitterness that it wasn't me she chose. However, based on what I was led to believe, the entire course of my life built upon a false destiny, I might even think now that she made the right decision. If the destiny had been realized and we became Noir, I would have led her and myself right down into the depths of darkness from which I now fear we would never have been able to escape. I do love her, and my heart still aches knowing I can never be with her, but I don't know if I would ever have been able to see past her false persona of sin she hid herself under in order to cope with the blood on her hands. How much more black can our souls be, how much more of the remaining humanity in us we would have killed away before it became too late to ever see the girl she so desperately wanted to be?

I wonder how she remembers me. What was I to her? Does she remember me as a simple short-term associate? Or was I simply a link to her difficult past, which she has now cast aside? Am I only a part of the horror of her dark memories, which brings her nightmares when she sleeps? This train of thought is frivolous, and obviously selfish on my part. But somehow, I wish I can know that she remembers me fondly, as one who cared for her deeply. I wish she knew I only wanted what I thought was the best for her, for us.

I had been so jealous of Mireille Bouquet. For so long, she had no idea how lucky she was. She had the Girl by her side, something I so desired for the longest time. When the Girl chose her, it was to me, unthinkable. That was not supposed to happen. It should have been me. It could only be me. But now I see. It was going to happen this way all along. They had already chosen each other long before I made the Girl choose. Ironically, it was my own actions that forced the Girl to make known the choice she already made, with a thrust of the only weapon available to her upon my chest. The Daughter of Corsica realized her own choice when she couldn't make herself feel the hatred she was supposed to feel towards the one who had killed her family all those years ago. In a way, I admired that about her. Mireille Bouquet turned out to be a much stronger person than I ever gave her credit for.

When seen from this perspective, I guess I should be blaming Altena for what happened to me. All this time, I was only a tool she used to bring forth her true idea of Noir. But I do not blame her. In fact, I feel so sorry for her. Thinking about Altena actually brings me the heaviest of sadness. I consider what kind of things she has had to go through to feel such vengefulness at the world. The world is truly filled with great evils. I have been close witness to countless examples. But I know now that sometimes, if we are lucky, we can find our way out of the darkness. Kirika Yuumura and Mireille Bouquet found their way out with the greatest of love for each other. I feel I am beginning to find my way out both by admiring their love, and by my desire for understanding as to why the Girl did what she felt she had to do.

It is unfair that Altena was never able to find her own "Kirika Yuumura" in her lifespan, someone to guide her out of the darkness and ease the pain. Somewhere, wherever she is, I wish Altena has finally found peace, be rid of those memories, and is finally able to cleanse the hatred so deeply embedded in her soul.

My thoughts return to the dwelling I have been trespassing through. I am in no hurry to leave, although it doesn't feel right for me to linger here too long. The two left this morning on another holiday. I was told they went to the Canadian Rockies this time. I let out a contented sigh. Judging from all those pictures, I think they would plan to see every corner of the world eventually.

I walk alongside the slanted wall where the windows are recessed in each of their own little alcoves, while my eyes continue to scan the place the Girl calls home. I pass the eating table, and step into the one side of the work desk where the large closed book rests.

The book looks well used. The spine looks as though it had been opened and shut a million times. It is a sketchbook. Could this be where the Girl practices her painting skills? Curiosity gets the better of me and I reach over, and gently open the cover. Page by page, the book showcases the growth chart of the Girl's artistic talent. Intricacy and detail increases incrementally with every turn of the page. Brush edges become more defined. Colors become richer. The subjects begin with various Parisian sceneries, and later onto different sketches and paintings of her favorite model, the Daughter of Corsica.

I eventually reach close to the end of the book, and I notice that there is one page that has a clear plastic sheet lined over it, presumably for protection. I open it for full view, and the image here take me by surprise so much that I almost fall backwards.

There can be no doubt as to the identity of the one she has drawn here. She has painted… me, and with amazing detail and clarity. It is more surprising, that she has drawn me happy. My hair is flowing with the wind, my mouth in a half-open smile, my eyes bright with joy. Certainly, this picture is not drawn in a way that could ever indicate the artist bears any fear or reflection of ill will towards the subject. She remembers me, like I hoped she would. There is something written on the left side. I pull my gaze from my own portrait to read it. "Thank you for everything, Chloe. Goodbye."

It takes a few moments, but slowly, my initial shock and disbelief after seeing the painting sinks into a pool of joy and satisfaction. Tears now well up in the corners of my eyes. Seeing this has made me so happy, so filled with a kind of sheer joy I never thought I could experience again. Not even a second passes and my face is already dripping with tears. I feel my body soften and start to fall to my knees, but at this moment, I don't mind, and allow myself to fall.

I sit there, kneeling on the floor, for several minutes. I am simply basking in this moment. The widest of grins has been pasted on my face, and a flood of warmth has washed over my body. I never thought this was possible, to be able to see the way she now regards me in her memory, and it turns out the best way imaginable.

I eventually manage to pull myself back standing up. I pull one of the sides of my cloak and wipe my eyes and face dry enough to see the painting again. This time, I am savoring the view. I relish every stroke of her paintbrush, every letter of her written words. It may not be the exquisitely refined framed painting the Daughter of Corsica has, proudly displayed for both to see everyday. But this is more than enough for me.

I can be content to stare at this for the entire day, but I know I'll have to eventually pull away. I take one final look, and then gently close the sketchbook.

I take an enormous breath of air into my lungs, and hold it for a moment before letting one tremendous sigh to leave my mouth. It was good to come here, to see the world in which the Girl now lives.

I take myself around the work desk, and towards the start of the hall that leads back to the apartment entrance. I turn, and take another last scan across the loving home of Kirika Yuumura and Mireille Bouquet. The smile I gained in this room still stays with me now. Content to have seen what I came here to see, and much more, I leave my farewell to the former Noir.

"Goodbye, Mireille. Goodbye, my darling Kirika." I take a second, then turn back, and begin to walk towards the door. Without bothering to use the knob, I walk right through the white-painted door, back to the apartment hallway...

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**_There is a second half to this story, and I'll post it later. For now, please review after reading!_**


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello all! Much appreciative thanks to those who have provided me with the kind reviews. I hope you will enjoy the final part to this short story._

_I forgot to give the usual disclaimer last time: Noir and its characters are owned by Bee Train. Characters borrowed for non-profit purposes. No animals were harmed in the writing of this story._

_**Anyways, please read, and don't be shy, please review!**_

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Return to the Apartment (Part 2 of 2)

I walk into the apartment building's hallway with my head slightly lowered and my eyes gently closed. Without looking, I know there is already someone here to greet me. I open my eyes half way to see her presence. She must be waiting for me to talk first, so I open my mouth and stammer out the first appropriate thing that comes to mind.

"I- I'm sorry I took so long." I say with an apologetic tone at the one who has brought me here, my face still glowing with joy even though I try to not make it look obvious.

"That's quite alright. I told you to take as long as you want." She replies, so kind and understanding as always. It didn't take her long before she notices my change in demeanor. She speaks warmly to me. "Chloe?"

My smile lights up again. It is now like a rush I can only control for brief times. I walk closer to her. My voice trembles with excitement. "I saw… I saw her painting… of me!" I think I must be blushing, but I make no effort to hide it.

She smiles in a delighted and knowing manner. "Yes. Isn't it splendid? She painted that from the bottom of her heart. For you."

With surprise, I look up at her. "You knew of it? You've seen it?"

"Yes. And I know this may be difficult to consider, but I think when she was painting it, in her mind she was hoping that somehow, you would be able to see it."

My mind feels like it is in a daze. I'm not sure if I should be feeling the euphoria of her tribute or the sorrow of the process of letting go of someone so precious.

"I- I want to tell… I want to say to her… so badly. 'I'm sorry if I ever made you sad. I'm sorry I never saw who you truly wanted to be.' I wish I could tell her in person." The words blurt out, barely coherent as my sadness returns for a moment. But she seems able to understand. She raises her right hand and places it on my cheek. She uses her thumb to wipe away the stray tear that found its way down my face.

"I know," she answers simply. "I know. But you can see now. You don't need to. She already knows. She already appreciates all your good intentions, and all that you tried to do for her."

"Yes." I feel the warmth return to my heart as the memory of the portrait reappears in my mind. "Thank you."

At this time, I realize how selfish I appear to be right now. She had initially been slightly hesitant when I asked to come here, and I could understand why. But she saw how important this request was, and she obliged.

So now, I ask of her thoughts. "It must not be easy for you… to let me look into their home." My words are tentative, asking the question with a simple statement.

"No. Nothing like that…" She pauses for a moment to consider her words. "I wasn't worried really about their privacy. I just wasn't sure if coming back here would be too much for you, even though I really wanted you to see the painting Kirika did for you."

She stops for a second or so, maybe she expected me to say something. When no words came from my mouth, she continues.

"My daughter and her beloved no longer live in darkness. The past is behind them, but they hide nothing of their present. I had felt so ashamed, because of what my husband and I had to do to gain the power we held. And it cost us our lives and that of our son, and left the darkness in my daughter's heart. I am proud, that she was able to overcome it all. I am proud, that she is able to find forgiveness in her bitter heart. I am proud, that she is able to find love, in the purest and truest form possible."

A flash of guilt passes through me as she says this. She has done so much for me… For me: The one who on that dark day, almost succeeded in slitting her daughter's throat.

"I- I'm…" The words tumble from my lips with frustrating clumsiness. She seems curious at what I suddenly had to say. She just looks at me attentively and waits for my words.

I know she is aware of what I have done in the past. Yet, she has never showed me any anger for it. Moreover, she has taken me into her care since the moment we met. I so wish I could pretend those actions of mine never happened, but I know I can't.

"Mrs… Bouquet… I am so sorry- I tried to take her life." I speak with my head down and my eyes closed. I don't want to remind her of it, but I have to. I have to let her know that I regret that day. This is the way for me to find peace. I try to open my eyes, to see her face, and her response. I try to open them, but I fail.

But I didn't need to. The calm sensation of warm arms wrapping around my shoulders gives me the reply I need. She holds me close, and allows my face to rest on her collar. It feels so good here, the way Altena used to hold me when I was sad.

"Let's not worry about such trivialities of the past, Chloe." Mrs. Bouquet says kindly but in a definitive manner. "We are blessed with the opportunity to start over, with new hopes for the future. Remember your experiences. Learn from the past, but do not let it strangle you. You must be strong to take full advantage of this chance."

She holds me a few moments longer before pulling back. I take this occasion to open my eyes fully to greet her face. Even with dried tears hovering the edges of my eyelashes, the brightest smile on my face tells her that I understand, and again, appreciates all of her guidance.

"Are you ready to go?" She whispers supportively.

I nod with affirmation. She takes my hand into hers, and starts to step back to where a beam of the clearest of light casts down like a spotlight behind her. I feel a tug on my hand being held as she guides me toward it.

But before she reaches the light, I interrupt.

"Mrs. Bouquet?" I ask abruptly.

"Yes, Chloe?" She answers with curiosity.

"What happened to Altena?" The question arrives in a low whisper, and I ask with great trepidation, fearing to hear what might ultimately be an upsetting answer. Despite what Altena has done, I still worry about her. She took care of me for such a long time. For as long as I can remember, she was nothing less than a mother to me.

There was a slight pause before she replied, a delay that briefly deepened by worries.

"She is at a place where she will no longer be burdened with the weight of hatred and sorrow. We hope she can find peace there." Mrs. Bouquet answers. Her voice layered with restrained optimism. "…But it will take some time. It is not easy to try to undo an entire lifetime of despair and anguish."

"Will I ever be able to see her again?" My question is tentative, but hopeful.

"…I don't know." Her eyes close halfway in disappointment at her answer. She is honest with me, even if it was something sad.

Now it is my turn to lighten the mood. My face lights up cheerfully as I declare: "I know I will see her again. If she has someone as incredible as you to help her, I know she will get through it."

She opens her eyes and smiles widely in appreciation, then gestures her face for us to continue.

We approach the light. But a chill of nervousness passes through me. A part of me still questions whether I deserve to see the wonders that lie on the other side.

"What is there… beyond the light… for me?" I ask with my heart beating fast in anticipation of the unknown.

"Possibilities, Chloe." She tells me as I feel the warmth of the light saturate my surroundings.

"Infinite possibilities... I'll take you through them. …One …By one."

I turn my point of view back towards the white painted door of their apartment for one last glance. The sight progressively loses its clarity as my journey begins.

_While our sins will never vanish,_

_My love for you shall never die._

_Live well, Kirika._

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_Author's notes:_

_This was meant as a one-part story, but it got too long in the process so I divided into two. _

_I also have other Noir fics in the works, as well as one very long one for the movie D.E.B.S. coming soon. But don't forget I'm a review whore. So the more reviews I get the more motivated I'll be to finish those other ones!_

_Special thanks to all the talented Noir fanfic writers whose works I've enjoyed over the years and thus has motivated me to start writing myself._

_...Til next time! ;-)_


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